


sunshine

by literatiruinedme



Series: case files [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual reunion, F/M, I hate flipping povs with a firey passion but it's necessary here, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Separation Anxiety, Separations, Witness Protection, and maybe smut, motorcycle accident, s1 happens but the black hood storyline doesn't, tags are tentative what're you going to do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literatiruinedme/pseuds/literatiruinedme
Summary: Since the enactment of the Organized Crime Control Act in 1970, the Federal Witness Protection Program has defended the safety of more than 8,600 government witnesses, relocating and providing new identities to them and approximately 10,000 of their family members.Files regarding witnessesWC-32106-A, WC-32107-A.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to [golden.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500308)
> 
> ((however, golden. is definitely not required reading for this fic.))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After solving the murder of Jason Blossom, Forsythe Pendleton “Jughead” Jones III and Elizabeth Cooper no longer exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the [mood board](https://imgur.com/p2XcDXo) for the prologue. ((there's two more, yes ik I'm OD but it's fine here we are))
> 
> Alright, this was in response to an _In Plain Sight_ binge and the AMAZING response to [golden.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500308)
> 
> I really love you guys.

There was an accident.

Something went wrong with the engine of his motorbike while he and Betty were headed to school. They flipped. Next thing he knew, Jughead woke up in the hospital, lying on a small cot next to hers with his left arm in a cast, a few broken ribs, and cuts all over his hands and knees.

Luckily- he'd scoffed when the doctor said it -he managed to veer off towards the snow before the motorbike flipped, but it still happened. He was still responsible for even the smallest scratch on her and it tore him up inside.

He blinked when he noticed he’d been staring blankly at a newspaper lying unopened on the hospital tray in front of him. _Murderer Caught Thanks To Vigilante Teens!_ was printed in bold type over a picture of Clifford Blossom being escorted out of Thornhill in handcuffs. “We made the front page,” Jughead mumbled, glancing over at Betty.

She was still resting, lying flat on her back under the same type of thin, overly stiff blankets he was under. A monitor beeped steadily beside her. Technically, she hadn’t been conscious for nearly twenty-four hours, but resting sounded...better. _Resting_ was less likely to make him start hyperventilating.

He watched a green dot paint line after line of the same steady rhythm across the monitor, looking away when his eyes started to sting. He laid back on his cot, staring at the cracks and spots in the tiled ceiling for the millionth time, looking for a pattern that didn't exist.

She was going to be  _fine_. The doctor said she was going to be fine -Jughead just needed to stop looking at her, waiting for her to wake up.

He closed his eyes, listening to the monitors as a way to calm his whirring mind.

Everything was going to be fine- _they_ were going to be fine.

A knock sounded from the door.

Jughead lifted his head again, watching a woman with cropped black hair wearing gray dress pants, a matching blazer, and a light blue button up step into the room, shutting the door behind her.

She smiled kindly when he met her gaze. “Forsythe Jones?”

Jughead huffed, turning to look at Betty again. “Don't call me that.” He watched her chest rise and fall steadily.

“What do you go by?” the woman asked, stepping closer.

He glanced over at her, frowning when he noticed heavy black combat boots hidden under the legs of her pants. “Who are you?” He met her gaze again, steeling his expression as he rested his finger over the button he knew was connected to the nurses station. “What do you want?”

She pulled the edge of her jacket away, revealing a badge that looked like a sheriff's star surrounded by a thin silver band. “I'm with the U.S. Marshal’s Service,” she said, taking a few steps closer before holding her hand out to him. “Inspector Rebecca King.”

He stared down at her hand, not moving to take it. “What do you want?” he repeated.

She smiled weakly, lowering her hand. “I'm here to offer you and your girlfriend protection.”

He glanced back up at her. “What, like, condoms?” His brows pinched together in disgust. “She's unconscious, lady, come on. I'm not that big of a creep, jeez.”

Inspector King chuckled, shaking her head. “No,” she said, her tone growing more serious. “I'm an agent with the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

Jughead's blood ran cold. “You’re a _what_ with _whom_?”

“I’m a U.S. Marshal. I work in the Federal Witness Protection Program,” she said with a smile. “Some of our agents took a look at your bike and it seems that someone tried playing around with your engine and I doubt your girlfriend’s mechanic skills are that shotty.”

He blinked, looking over at Betty and then at the ceiling. He ignored how the monitor next to him beeped faster. “What are you saying?” he asked, feigning some version of composure as he looked at Inspector King again.

“I'm saying, Mister Jones, that we think Clifford Blossom- or someone connected to him -put a hit on you both.” She took a few steps closer, stopping at the edge of his bed. “The United States Government wants to offer you protection in exchange for your testimony against him.”

Jughead barked out a curt laugh. “And then what?” he mocked, looking over at her. “You want to make me disappear?”

“There’s a little more involved with it than _making you disappear_ , but-” Inspector King shrugged. “At the end of the day, we’d like to make you and Miss Cooper disappear, yes.”

“But my family-” He paused, swallowing as his free hand curled into a fist. His family wasn’t much of a family anymore. “ _Her_ family-”

“No one can get in contact with your mother, your father's in jail, and-” Inspector King sighed, shaking her head. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and he felt himself stiffen in anticipation for what was coming. “Alice and Hal don't want to join the program.”

“But she-” He paused, running a hand through his hair. That was going to _destroy_ Betty. “I don't understand,” he said, pressing his fingers to his temple. His brain felt like it was in a fog with all of the painkillers in his system.

“You'll both get new identities and be moved to another part of the country where you can live a quiet life without the fear of being found by the Blossom family,” she assured him. “It’s that easy.”

Jughead worried his lower lip as he considered the proposition. He glanced up at her, one brow raised. “Together?”

Inspector King’s smile faltered.

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not happening.”

“Mister Jones-”

“I'm not-” He took a calming breath before he met her gaze. “I _won't_ go without her.”

“You can be together when you both turn eighteen,” she tried, shrugging a shoulder. “I realize that this isn't an ideal scenario-”

“Get out.”

Inspector King froze. Her brows furrowed as she searched his face. “Mister Jones, I understand-”

“You clearly don't,” he interrupted. “ _Get out_.”

“It's not only your safety that's at risk-”

“Leave before I call security.”

“Okay,” she hummed, nodding slowly as she walked over to the door again. “I'll be outside, should you change your mind before she wakes up.”

Jughead closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the door to close before he let himself breakdown. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, making himself stay quiet as tears slid from his eyes.

Reaching out to grip something, he yelped in pain when he slammed his cast into the tray next to his bed. “Fuck,” he murmured, reaching out for the button the nurses told him to press when he was in pain before he rubbed his free hand over his cast, as if that would somehow ease the pain. “Self-destruction isn’t the way to go.”

He blinked a few times when he suddenly felt a little dazed, glancing over at Betty again. Sunshine spilled in through the slots in the blinds, bleeding over her bed. He smiled at the way the sun illuminated her golden hair and pale skin.

Jughead didn’t look away as his eyelids grew heavy.

* * *

He jerked awake to fingertips brushing along his cheek, memories flashing through his mind; first of the hospital, then the accident, and finally- “ _Betty._ ”

“I’m here,” she said, smiling at him from the chair she was sitting in next to his cot.

Jughead smiled softly as he clumsily reached for her hand, a little groggy from the medication in his bloodstream. He gave her a once-over, scanning for any injuries.

“You broke my fall,” she said, drawing a smile to his lips at how she was always able to read his mind. She smiled knowingly, leaning forward to peck his lips. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I'll live.”

“That's what I like to hear,” Betty hummed happily. She looked at his forehead, reaching out to touch a bandage he hadn't even realized was above his eyebrow. “A woman stopped by. She started talking about a security program-” She sighed, pursing her lips as she looked at him. “Juggie, you said _no_?”

He worried his lower lip, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s just the Blossoms.” He shrugged a shoulder. “They're not _that_ bad.”

“N _ot that bad_ ,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “Did you hit your head?” she asked. “Because we're in the hospital right now or did you forget that?”

“And fucking with my engine is how they do that? _Please_.” He rolled his eyes. “It'll be a black car with tinted windows and no plates running us off the road.” He shrugged, laughed curtly. “Hey, maybe they'll send my dad when he's out of jail!”

She frowned, glancing at him with a look he knew meant she'd already made up her mind. “Did you at least _consider_ Witness Protection?”

He sighed, sitting up.

She rose to help him, a little more sluggish than usual, propping pillows behind his back while he adjusted the bed. “Did you?” she asked, squeezing onto the bed beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as he draped his broken arm across her back.

“I did,” he said softly, taking her hand in his. “They said we have to be apart.”

She frowned. “Just for a little while.”

“Betts-”

She leaned forward to kiss him, a combination of her lips pressed to his and the drugs in his system making his foggy mind buzz. “We have to,” Betty whispered, squeezing his hand as she pulled away.

“So, what,” he hummed. “We leave, we get settled, we come of age, we move again. Do you really want that?”

“Isn’t that preferable to nearly dying together?”

“But we’d be _together_.”

“Hey,” Betty sighed. “I know we make Romeo and Juliet jokes, but I didn’t have plans of _actually_ dying at sixteen.”

Jughead brought their joined hands to his lips. He looked up at her, trying to fake his best smile.

“I love you, Jughead.” Betty pulled her hand away to cup his face in both of her hands. “Unfortunately, that means I don’t want you to die.”

He hummed in agreement, closing his eyes as he leaned into her touch. “That _is_ unfortunate,” he muttered. He opened his eyes again when he heard her angelic laugh. He scanned her face, taking in every freckle, every eyelash, the way she smiled when she was trying not to cry. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won't,” she whispered.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she countered. “The agent said they can forward letters between us. We can’t exchange information or call each other, but we can stay in contact and, if we want to, we can be relocated together once we're both turn eighteen.” Betty squeezed Jughead’s hand. “That’s not all bad, right?” She asked, smiling hopefully.

“We don’t turn eighteen for a while.” He swallowed, looking down at their joined hands before he met her gaze. “Almost two years.”

“I know,” she breathed. “But then we’ll have a lifetime together.”

He grit his teeth in frustration as he mulled her words over, already aware of which direction their conversation was going. “Say we do this,” he began quietly. “You're not worried about your parents or _Polly_ staying behind?”

“Polly's pregnant with Jason's baby,” Betty sighed, resting her head on his shoulder again. “She's basically a Blossom at this point.”

He laughed weakly, biting his tongue to keep from groaning when his ribs protested. “And your parents?”

“Witsec is optional,” Betty hummed, glancing up at him with a shrug. “If we join, I know you're safe. I know there's going to be a light at the end of the tunnel and then we won't have to be strong because we'll have each other.”

He sighed, untangling his fingers from hers so he could pull her into a tender kiss.

She reached out to cup his cheek. “We're doing this?”

He swallowed, searching her eyes for something, _anything_ , that could save him from making such an awful choice. Finally, after accepting that the program was the only logical option on how to proceed, he nodded. “I guess, we are.”

She leaned down for another kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

Betty smiled softly as she brushed the tip of her nose along his, eliciting a smile from him. “I love you.”


	2. Chapter 1 - three days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbyes, new faces, and a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the [mood board](https://imgur.com/kkPsdo0) (2/3)

“No pictures?” Betty asked, her voice quiet.

Her handler looked up from her phone, frowning when she met Betty’s eyes in the mirror. U.S Marshal Robin Mann was a kick-ass blonde who was all smiles until she needed to crack some skulls together; Betty had seen it firsthand. “No, honey,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Betty sighed, looking over at the large duffle bag on her bed, packed tightly with every scrap of clothing Alice managed to squeeze in. She looked over at the closet, half of the hangers bare. Her room looked wrong- like what she imagined it would look like when she’d packed up her things for college after high school.

But she wasn’t coming back, she could _never_ come back.

Marshal Zachary Roberts, Robin's partner and ex-secret _something_ to do with the Navy, knocked on the doorframe, drawing their attention to the door. “I have a surprise for you,” he said in a thick southern drawl she knew was going to take some time getting used to. Zachary took a step inside the room.

Jughead smiled timidly from the hallway, giving her the opportunity to take in the dark circles under his eyes and the cast around his arm that was still foreign to her. “Hey there, Juliet.”

Betty smiled, running into him with a little too much force, his warm green sweater soft under her fingertips.

“Careful.” He stiffened, tenderly wrapping his fingers around her upper arm. “I’m still broken, remember?”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, loosening her grip around his waist.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, wrapping his arms around her, the plaster cast on his arm firm and unyielding against the small of her back. “When’s your flight?”

Betty sighed, resting her forehead on his shoulder for a few seconds before she glanced up at him. “Three hours.” She leaned up on the tips of her toes to kiss his lips. “What about you?”

He smiled down at her. “I’m jealous.” He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, scanning her face. “I fly out later tonight.”

“So you figured you’d pop in and say goodbye again?”

He shrugged, smiling bashfully. “Sue me.”

“I’ll be sure to return the favour.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He tilted her chin up with a finger, leaning down for another kiss.

Zachary cleared his throat beside them, his eyes pinned to the floor. “Do you want to continue this while you help her pack?” He glanced up at Jughead, one brow raised in a way that told them it wasn’t a request.

Robin stepped out into the hall, winking at Betty as she stood across from the open door to her room, offering them the smallest semblance of privacy.

“Oh, of course,” Jughead said, guiding Betty into her room with the hand at the small of his back.

She frowned when she noticed his stiff movements. “Are you alright?”

“Breathing is fun.” He shrugged, walking over to sit on the edge of her vanity. “Ribs will hopefully be healed soon.”

Betty hummed, smiling when she saw him swipe a photo of the two of them on the night of Homecoming off of the edge of her mirror.

He slipped it into his back pocket, winking when he caught her gaze. He glanced around her pink bedroom, sighing heavily. “I hate that this is going to be the last time I’m in this room.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I think the feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh,” he hummed, leaning off of the vanity. “Is that so?” He swaggered closer, resting one knee on the edge of the bed beside her.

“You talk big for a guy in a house _swarming_ with U.S. Marshals.”

He shrugged, glancing out the open door before he looked at her again. “I’m about to be on the lam-” He shrugged a shoulder, feigning the slightest bit of casualness, like he was _ever_ this forward. “Maybe I’m getting bold.”

“Alright, Jason Dean, keep it in your pants.” Betty rolled her eyes, pushing him back with a hand on the center of his chest.

He laughed so softly, it made her chest ache. She wanted to bottle the sound up and take it with her- for a rainy day when she needed him and _only_ him. “You know I’m not like that,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks going pink.

“I was under the impression you were getting _bold_ , Juggie,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head, walking over to her nightstand. He pulled the drawer open, reaching in to nudge a few items aside. He smiled warmly, pulling out a bracelet woven out of cheap blue, green, and black thread. “You still have this?” he asked, sitting down on the bed next to her.

She nodded, reaching out to take the bracelet from him. “This was me _officially_ accepting you as my friend,” she sighed, holding it out in front of her.

“I thought you just liked making friendship bracelets.” He shrugged, wrapping his arm around her waist. He leaned down to kiss her temple. “This is going to be so hard,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “Without you.”

“I know,” she whispered. With a deep breath in, she pulled away to take his hand in both of hers. “Here.” She wrapped the cord around his wrist, tying it off in a double knot. She glanced up at him with a smile. “Now I’m always with you.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Not to be the bearer of bad news, but a bracelet doesn’t mean you’re with me.”

She shushed him, cupping his face in her hands. “I love you,” she breathed, pulling him in for another kiss. Her thumbs brushed back and forth over his cheeks, making his shoulders relax. “We’ll be together again before you know it.”

He sighed, glancing up at her with a melancholy look in his eyes. “Two years-”

“The average person lives to eighty, Juggie, that has to be less than five percent of our lives.”

“Don’t math your way out of this,” he huffed, rolling his eyes despite the smile on his lips.

Betty laughed, drawing him in for another kiss. She pulled away slowly, kissing his brow before she stood, offering him her hand. “Help me pack.”

He groaned, taking her hand in his. “The sooner you’re packed, the sooner you leave.” He stood, pouting so she knew he wasn’t happy, even if he was cooperating.

“Time’s going to continue to pass, Juggie.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, pulling his hand from hers so he could walk over to her bag, picking it up with his uninjured hand. “Jesus, are there _bricks_ in here?”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Mom sends clothing in place of love,” she joked, but it fell flat.

He walked it over to the hallway after a moment of silence, his eyes sympathetic not pitiful, and set it down just outside the door. “She gets two bags, right?” he asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” an agent responded curtly.

Jughead nodded, turning back towards her. “What else needs to be packed?”

Betty sighed, taking his hand in hers so she could drag him over to her dresser, going through each of the drawers with his help. He tried to busy himself with her sock drawer while she ignored how her ears burned as she rifled through her underwear drawer, even as they knelt on the ground, barely two feet apart. “Jug?”

He hummed in acknowledgement, glancing over at her as he fiddled with the zipper on her duffle. “Yes?”

“If I-” She paused, wetting her lips as she glanced down at the zipper before meeting his gaze again. “Not to do this _now_ , but if our letters ever happened to get...I don't know.” She shrugged, her voice going quiet as she spoke. “Let's say _dirty_ , would that be something you'd be okay with? Maybe someday, not...you know, now.”

He smiled softly, the warm expression something she never had the pleasure of seeing before- she felt herself _melting_ under his gaze. He reached out for her hand, crawling closer. “You're an enigma, Betty Cooper.” His lips found hers with more confidence than ever before; it made her dizzy.

She smiled, tugging him closer to keep herself from floating away. When they pulled apart, she scanned his face again; following the slope of his nose, his soft pink lips, and the spots on his cheek. “I love you.” She blinked before she glanced up at him with a sigh. “Look, I know I just keep saying it, but I mean it and I need you to know how much I mean it when I say _I love you_.”

He brushed the tip of his nose along hers. “I love you.”

They turned when Robin knocked on the door. “Ten-minute warning, honey.”

Betty nodded, ignoring how her chest ached at the thought of so little time left in her old life- of so little time left with _him_.

Jughead’s fingers stilled on the zipper, hesitating before he rose to his feet. He walked over to her closet, rummaging around the top shelf before pulling down a small pale blue polaroid camera. “Can’t forget this.”

She smiled, remembering the gift from him and Archie for her twelfth birthday. “No, you’re right,” she said, holding her hands out for the camera as he dropped to his knees next to her. Fred paid for it, but refused to take the credit; he got her a box of a dozen chocolates. Betty snuck a glance at the door, turning off the flash before holding the camera up, leaning in to kiss his cheek as she pressed the shutter release. She grabbed the photo as soon as it printed, sliding it in her back pocket so it could develop in a secure spot where no one would find it. She laid the camera in the center of her bag, surrounding it with a few items of clothing as a cushion. She glanced up at Jughead. “There’s a few boxes of film-”

He nodded before she could finish. “I’ll grab them,” Jughead said, leaning forward to peck her lips before he walked over to the closet again.

Betty did a final sweep of her room as he packed the spare film in her bag.

“Did you pack any notebooks?” he asked, looking up at her from where he was kneeling on the floor. “And maybe a pen or something.”

Betty shook her head, walking over to grab a notebook, a pen, _and_ a pencil off of the top of her dresser, handing them to him while she scanned the books sitting on top. She paused when she noticed a leather-bound notebook.

“Betts?”

She hummed, glancing down at him. “Yes?”

He smiled softly, jerking his chin in the direction of the dresser, his gaze not leaving her hands. “What’s got your attention over there?”

“Oh,” she breathed, picking the notebook up. “Close your eyes.” She walked closer when he complied, laying the book in his open hands. “Open.”

Jughead looked down at the journal, turning it over in his hands slowly before he glanced up at her, confusion written on his face. “What’s this?”

“It was supposed to be a Christmas gift, but-” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. She smiled brightly. “It’s a gift for _you_ and that’s all that matters.”

“You didn’t-”

Betty shook her head, cutting him off. “Don’t do that today.”

He looked down at the journal, tapping his thumb against the cover before he rose to his feet, pulling her into a tight hug, her duffle awkwardly trapped between their feet. Slowly, he pulled away, cupping her cheek with one hand as he looked down at her. His face seemed to be torn between happiness and sorrow. “I don’t want to do this,” he admitted, his voice quiet.

“We have to,” Betty reasoned, resting her palm over his heart. She reached up to cup his face in her hands. “I need you to be safe.”

Jughead swallowed, pulling her in for another hug. His thumb firmly rubbed back and forth over her shoulder and she swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. He took a shaky breath, pulling back slowly. He smiled weekly when he looked down at her. “You can’t cry.”

“I’m not going to cry,” Betty huffed, blinking tears away.

“When you cry, I cry.” He let out a watery laugh, scanning her face again like he was trying to memorize every eyelash. He swallowed thickly, letting out a deep breath as he turned to look at the door. He grabbed her bag, dragging the strap over his head before holding his hand out to her. “Did you call Archie?”

“Oh god,” she choked out, taking his hand in hers. “We’re going to cry so hard- Archie can’t keep the waterworks back.” She stepped forward to take her other bag, frowning when Zachary grabbed it first. “Hey!”

He pressed a finger to his lips with a wink, clapping Robin on the shoulder as he led them towards the stairs. Zachary walked down first while Robin followed.

“I can carry _one_ of my bags.”

“You’re going to rob me of the easiest way to get brownie points?” Jughead teased, squeezing her hand.

Betty rolled her eyes, smiling as she squeezed his hand back. “And what’s your excuse, Zachary?”

He hummed in consideration. “I was raised with manners?”

Robin huffed. “You never carry my bags.”

“That’s different,” Zachary countered as they stopped by the door, allowing Betty the opportunity to tug on a pair of Converse. “You’re not a girl, you’re Robin.”

Jughead laughed, looking down at the floor with a bashfully murmured _sorry_ when Robin glared. He offered Betty a hand when she finished tying her laces, helping her to her feet.

“Can we say goodbye to a friend?” Betty asked, smiling sweetly. “He lives right next door- we can do it in the driveway.”

Robin nodded after Zachary pulled the door open. “I’ll go get him. Stay close to Zachary, understood?”

Betty nodded, leading Jughead a hair faster.

Zachary and Jughead put the bags in the back of the car just in time for Archie to sprint across the yard.

He pulled Betty and Jughead into a tight hug, only letting go when she complained about not being able to breathe. “Sorry, sorry,” Archie said quickly as he pulled away. He was already crying.

“Don’t do that,” Jughead groaned, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds.

“It’s going to happen, you need to accept it.”

Jughead shook his head, nudging Betty forward.

Archie gave her a watery smile, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.

She bit her bottom lip as her eyes watered. “Archie,” she said, her voice choked as she tried to keep herself from openly bawling.

Her voice sent him over, making him shake as he cried into her shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.” His sobbing finally pushed the first tear forward. Archie held his arms out, silently inviting Jughead into a group hug.

Jughead’s body pressed firmly to her back, the weight of his body behind hers and his uneven breathing in her ear made her sob loudly. He pressed his face into her shoulder, laughing weakly.

“What?” Betty asked, reaching back to pinch his side.

“You were right,” he sniffed, snaking his uninjured hand around her waist, making no effort to pull away. “This was a recipe for tears.”

Archie laughed, pulling away to wipe his eyes. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, anger flashing over his face before his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“We’ll write to you,” Betty promised, sniffing as she laid her arm over Jughead’s. Her fingers trailed back and forth over the back of his arm absentmindedly before she reached her free hand out to Archie. She smiled before tears flooded her eyes again, blinking quickly to keep them from spilling forward. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

His lower lip quivered before he reached forward to hug her again, holding her close as he sobbed.

Jughead’s hand around her waist trembled, but he didn’t move, remaining solid behind her. His presence was grounding, keeping her from breaking apart.

Archie pulled away, holding her upper arms firmly as he looked down at her, teary-eyed and red-faced. “I’ll do my best.” He sniffed. “You promise you’ll send letters?”

Betty nodded quickly, holding her pinky out to him. “Promise.”

He smiled, wrapping his pinky around hers. He gave her a final hug before taking a few steps back, giving her and Jughead a moment to themselves.

She turned to face him, smiling up at him as he pulled her closer. “I think I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.”

He smiled softly. “I figured I was the Tin Man,” he said with a sniffle.

Betty rolled her eyes. “Don’t interrupt our _moment_.”

“Okay, okay,” he hummed, leaning forward to kiss her brow.

She smiled, carefully taking his injured hand. She pulled a permanent marker from her pocket, signing her first initial on the cast with one too many hearts drawn around it, very loudly claiming him as her own.

He grinned, taking the marker from her when she finished. He turned her palm over, holding her hand with the tips of his fingers before he dragged the sharpie along her wrist, leaving behind a small crown.

One last way to call her his own, even if it was only semi-permanent.

She looked up at him after she took her marker back, putting on a brave face as she shoved it back in her pocket. “I love you,” she breathed.

“I love _you_.” His eyes were shining with tears as he pulled her in for a tender kiss. “I love you so much,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

Betty smiled, cupping his face in her hands as she kissed him goodbye. She pulled back slowly, leaning up on the tips of her toes to kiss his forehead. With a shaky breath, she glanced up at him again. “You be good, okay?”

He nodded, not opening his mouth.

“Good.” She pulled him closer, pausing before his lips touched his. “Keep your eyes closed,” she whispered. “Just until I’m in the car, okay?”

“Betty-”

“ _Please_.” She felt another wave of tears threatening to spill over. “Please, or I won’t be able to leave.”

He took a sharp breath, worrying his lower lip between his teeth before he exhaled. “Okay,” he whispered, relaxing in her arms. He studied her face for a few moments before his eyes slipped shut. “I love you.”

Betty smiled weakly to herself, leaning in to kiss him hard. She let herself melt against him, pulling away only when her lungs screamed for oxygen and her eyes burned with silent tears. She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and his forehead before she leaned in so her lips brushed his ear. “I love you.” She let out a laboured breath after pressing one last tender kiss to his lips, scanning his face again when she pulled back; his face was red from crying and she knew he was holding back tears, but his beautiful eyes stayed shut. “I love you _so much_.”

She took a shaky breath before she forced herself to pull away, walking over to the door Robin pulled open. She climbed into the car. She couldn’t bear looking out the window until the car was about to pull away, offering the two most important people in her life one final look.

Archie had his back to her, arms wrapped around Jughead as he cried.

Jughead stared up at the sky, fat tears sliding down his cheeks as he bit his bottom lip.

Less than five percent of their lives, she reminded herself. That’s all it would be until she was back in Jughead’s arms. She just hoped she wouldn’t spend the entire time sobbing.

* * *

New Mexico was the last place Betty ever expected to find herself. Her lips parted when she ducked out of the door of the plane, nothing but sand and stone all the way to the edge of the horizon.

Robin led her down the steps to a black car parked on the tarmac next to the plane, helping to load her two bags into the car before she took the passenger's seat. Zachary smiled at Betty in the rearview mirror before they drove away from the small airport, finally making their way to the road. They went back and forth, trying to sell Albuquerque as Betty looked out the window from the backseat of the car, not really listening to what they were saying.

The desert stretched on, broken up by the long stretch of road they were travelling down, some scattered shrubbery, and a few natural stone structures.

“How do you feel about hot air balloons?” Zachary asked, grinning when he glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

Betty smiled politely. “They're pretty, I guess.”

“She _guesses_ ,” Robin hummed, amusement evident in her voice.

Zachary huffed, lightly slapping her arm. “Well,” he said, turning his attention to Betty again. “You're in for a treat,” he said, trying his best for enthusiasm, even if it fell a little flat. “Albuquerque is the ballooning capital of the world.”

Robin looked over at him, disbelief on her face. “Did you just say _ballooning_ like it was cool?”

“It _is_ cool.”

Robin sighed, pushing her sunglasses down her nose as she glanced back at Betty. “What's the consensus, honey?”

Betty smiled, turning to look out the window again. “Hot air balloons are cool.”

“See?” Zachary said triumphantly.

“That was half-assed appeasement if I’ve ever heard it,” Robin argued.

“You're just pissed because she agrees.”

“She was just trying to get us to shut up.”

“I hope she learns from her mistakes,” Zachary said with a grin. “You like museums, Betty Boop?”

“Did you really just call her that?”

Zachary shushed her before letting out a laugh. “Let me have my fun.”

Robin huffed but didn't argue further.

Betty nodded, glancing back towards the two inspectors. “Museums, libraries, and newsrooms.”

Robin didn't say anything, frowning as she looked away.

A small part of Betty already knew she would grow to hate that look, but she stayed quiet as Zachary went off on a rant about a few cultural sites, the diverse landscape, and the food. “You'll either love or hate chillies by the end of the week, but you damn well won't be indifferent,” he said. “I guarantee it.”

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind.” Betty chuckled, nodding her head. Her smile fell when she remembered she wouldn't be able to push things off to the side of her plate with the expectation that Jughead would get rid of them for the foreseeable future.

“You okay, honey?”

Betty glanced over at Robin with a bright smile. “Never better.”

“Never.” Robin quirked a brow. “ _Really_?”

Her smile faltered but Betty didn't argue, waiting until Robin nodded before looking out the window again. Fluffy white clouds hung off in the distance, breaking up the otherwise clear blue sky. Red stone rose up from the ground, disrupting the otherwise unending horizon.

“Did you want to give her the thing?” Zachary asked under his breath.

“Now?”

He didn't speak for a few seconds. “Go on.”

Robin sighed, rifling through a bag before resting something cold and flat on Betty's knee. She smiled when Betty looked down at the item wrapped in brown paper. “A present from your guy.”

Betty's brows furrowed when she glanced up at Robin and back at her lap. She carefully slid her finger under a corner, peeling back the plain looking paper to reveal a red paperback.

“What'd he get you?” Robin asked, smiling brightly when Betty held the book up. “ _On The Road_.” She rolled her eyes. “What a dad joke.”

“He’s funny like that.” Betty chuckled, opening the book to flip through the pages when a small piece of the wrapping paper fell out. She smiled, unfolding it to see Jughead's familiar messy script.

 _A gift for the road._ __  
_I know Kerouac isn't your favourite, but think of me when you read it._ __  
_I love you._  
Yours.

Betty slipped the note into her pocket, smiling as she turned the book over in her hands. She bit her lower lip when she felt her eyes start to sting. “Fuck,” she whispered softly turning towards the window. She watched the red sands, the clouds, and the sky blur as silent tears slid down her cheeks, bringing her knees to her chest. She rested her cheek on her knees, one hand pressing the book tightly to her chest.

Someone turned on the radio, the soft Alt-Rock covering her quiet crying.

Betty squeezed her eyes shut, resting her forehead on her knees. She cried until she found sleep, waking to Robin's hand on her shoulder.

The bright sunlight made her squint her eyes as she looked out the door to where Robin was standing, a small smile on her face. “Come on, honey,” she said, helping Betty out of the car.

Zachary walked in front of them, one bag over either shoulder as the group made their way inside. The office was small, but the mass of glass windows made it feel more open.

Betty followed Zachary into a conference room, taking a seat at the end of the table in front of a thick stack of paperwork bound together along the top edge.

Robin and Zachary took a seat on either side of her, quickly getting started. After reading through every rule (and there were a lot of them), Robin started handing Betty paperwork she needed to sign to officially create her new identity. “Sign here.”

Betty's pen scribbled across the dotted line.

“Here.”

More scribbling.

Robin flipped the paper over. “Here and here.”

Zachary quietly collected each document Betty passed to him, scanning and rescanning the pages.

“Sign here, here, and initial here on this page.” Robin pointed to each spot on the page before sliding one last sheet of paper on an empty space next to the page Betty was singing. “This one you have to print your name, initial, and sign-” She looked up at Betty with a grin. “Then you're a real person and we can go meet your new family.”

Betty frowned, not expecting the phrase  _your new family_ to hurt as badly as it did.

“I mean, we'll go see your new home,” Robin corrected, smiling sadly.

“Nice save,” Zachary mumbled, not looking up as he thumbed through the pages.

Robin's shoulders slumped as she looked down at the table top. “They're really nice,” she tried, meeting Betty's gaze again. “Younger couple; he runs a diner in Old Town and she sells vinyls.”

Betty’s brows pinched together. “Vinyl?”

“They’re making a living.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Plus, he’s an _excellent_ cook.”

Zachary grinned. “That's an understatement.”

“That good?” Betty asked, cocking a brow.

“ _To die for_ ,” Robin said with a grin.

Betty nodded, signing the last of the papers before handing them to Zachary.

He did a quick scan before he turned to Robin with a grin. “Your witness, you get the honours.”

“Welcome to the world, Elizabeth Rose Cregg.” Robin grinned, holding a hand out to Betty. “How does it feel?”

Betty smiled, shaking Robin’s hand. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Kind of like that feeling you get when you wake up on your birthday and people ask if you feel different because you’re older.”

Robin hummed. “Course the teenager needs to be deep.”

Betty laughed, following both agents out of the conference room, one bag with her and the other with Robin.

Robin stopped by her desk, grabbing her keys. “You’re with me, honey,” she said with a smile.

Betty nodded, following her out of the office and into a parking lot. They walked over to a blue compact car, setting Betty's bags in the back before leaving the lot. She looked out the window as Robin drove, watching the city morph into suburbia.

They stopped at a quaint little white house and were greeted by a man with olive skin and kind brown eyes, and a petite brunette with skin paler than Betty’s. The pair couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

Robin turned off the engine, throwing the door open before standing up. “Hey, Aunt Mary and Uncle Austin!”

The woman, Mary, grinned as she walked over, pulling Betty’s door open. “How was the drive?”

“It was alright,” Robin answered, popping the trunk. “Hell of a day for traffic.”

Betty slipped past Mary with a small smile, grabbing one of her bags while Austin took the other.

Robin and Mary walked towards the door, already lost in conversation.

She stiffened when she felt Austin glance down at her. “What?” Betty asked.

He held a hand out to her. “Austin.”

She reached out to shake his hand. “Betty.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, holding the front door open for her. He pointed to a rug by the door. “Shoes go there.”

Betty nodded, setting her bag down to untie her shoes. She grabbed her bag again, standing up straight. “Can you show me to my room?”

He nodded, leading her around a corner and down a hall. “First room is the bathroom, the second one is Mary and me; this one-” He turned the knob on a door across the hall, the door placed closest to the front entrance. “Is yours.”

They walked into a room about the size of her one at home; there was a queen bed with a winding metal frame set along the right wall, two windows in the far wall with a desk between them, a closet was set in the far corner of the left wall, a tall white dresser set about halfway down the same wall.

Austin set her bag down on her bed, glancing back at her with a smile. “I wrote down our phone numbers and all of the codes for Netflix and whatever else. They're in your nightstand.”

“Thank you,” Betty said, her best fake smile in place.

Austin and Mary both seemed nice, they really did, but the whole situation felt plastic.

She glanced around the room again. “Is it okay if I take a nap?”

“Are you sure?” Austin checked his watch. “It’s six now, Mary and I were going to eat in a little bit if you wanted to join. Plus, I’m sure Robin will want to check in before she goes.”

Betty nodded, setting her bag down on the floor. “I’m exhausted.”

He sighed, nodding his head. “Do what you want. I’ll have Robin knock if she needs anything.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a lot, I get it.” He gave her a small smile. “May as well start getting into dad mode and let you get away with everything,” he chuckled. “I’ll take care of it. You rest.”

Betty smiled, plopping down on her new bed.

“I’ll leave something for you in the fridge. Heat it up whenever you’re hungry. Our house is your house, yeah?”

“Thank you,” Betty said again.

He smiled warmly. “Goodnight, Betty.”

“Goodnight, Uncle Austin,” she said with a grin.

He chuckled, rolling his eyes as he stepped out into the hall. “Austin is fine,” he promised, flashing her one last smile before he closed the door.

Betty felt her face fall as she laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. She reached into her pocket, pulling out the photo of her and Jughead. The photo paper was a little wrinkled, but he looked so happy as she pressed her lips to her cheek, hair flopping in his eyes. His eyes were open, bright as he focused on the camera. She smiled before she felt a lump form in her throat. She traced her fingertips along the image of his cheek before looking up at his eyes; they were so warm as he stared at the camera.

She missed him.

She found herself wondering where he was; had he made it to his end destination or was he still travelling? Had he even left yet? He said he had a late flight, what if it was a red eye? She frowned at the thought of him signing paper after paper late at night, his tired mind barely following. She hoped he slept on the plane, but she knew he wouldn't; too many people he didn't know to keep track of.

She found herself spiralling down a well of _what-ifs_ until she finally realized how dark it was outside.

Betty sat up, flicked on the lamp sat on her nightstand, bathing the room in soft, white light. She picked up the duffle on the ground, walking over to the dresser to unpack her clothes. After emptying her first duffle, she flattened it, slipping it under the bed before she grabbed the other bag. She rifled through the clothing, pausing when she felt denim rougher than any of the fabric of her jeans under her fingertips. She pulled the pile out, turning it over to look at what the last item was.

She had to cover her mouth to stay quiet as she sat down on the bed. One blue-gray _s_ -shirt, one red and black flannel, and one dark-wash denim sherpa. Betty picked up her phone, hitting Robin's number.

She answered on the third ring. “Mann,” Robin mumbled into the phone before yawning.

“How'd he do it?”

Robin hummed. “What? Who?” She suddenly sounded more alert. “Betty, are you alright?”

“I'm okay,” Betty said softly. She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand, frowning at the late hour. “I'm sorry, I was unpacking and I found his things.” She looked down at her lap, trailing her fingers along the faded lettering. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's alright,” Robin sighed, going quiet for a few seconds. “Why don't you come with me for breakfast tomorrow morning? We can talk more then.”

“That sounds nice.” Betty lifted the fabric of his shirt to her face, swallowing thickly at the comforting scent of home. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Seven?”

Betty laughed, hugging the shirt close to her chest. “I'll be ready.”

“Good girl,” Robin yawned. “Get some sleep, honey.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Betty pulled the phone away from her ear, resting it facedown on the nightstand as she pulled his shirt into her lap. She rested it over her legs, staring down at the well-loved fabric before she pulled her shirt off and dropped it on the floor. She tugged his shirt on, smiling weakly as she was wrapped in the familiar scent of him.

With a sigh, she stepped out of her jeans before peeling the covers back. She curled up in a ball under the covers, his picture tucked securely under the pillow she was laying on, her fingers never leaving the little square of plastic. She glanced out the window, looking at the tire swing hanging from a tree at the far end of the yard. The tree was outlined in a soft glow, a result of light pollution coming from the centre of town. The tire barely moved, but if she focused long enough, she noticed it swinging a few inches one way and back. The wind blew outside, pushing the swing as it whistled.

Betty closed her eyes, leaning down to press her nose into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply. She sighed, thinking of the night she spent laying between him and Archie as they laid in her backyard, looking at the stars. Betty had pointed out the few constellations she knew before Jughead pointed out some new ones. She let out a watery laugh when she remembered how Archie laid over both of them, threatening to stay there until they talked about something he could be a part of. Betty's final seventh-grade science project- _cupcakes frosted like mitochondria, is that_ not _genius?_ -was thrown on the chopping block.

Her eyes stung when she realized she would only ever have memories of Archie Andrews for the rest of her life. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking up at the ceiling as she cried silently. She glanced back out the window before squeezing her eyes shut.

Her best friend wasn't right there anymore. Her boyfriend wasn't allowed within state lines of her and she couldn't call or text anytime she needed him.

She felt alone.

Time dragged on around her as she laid, staring at the ceiling while she prayed for sleep. An hour passed, then two before Betty heard birds chirping outside her window. She sighed, glancing over at the clock to see it was already past five.

After a few more fruitless minutes of hoping for rest, Betty sat up. She walked over to the duffle bag at the foot of her bed, pulling out a pair of shorts, a black shirt, and some underwear before sneaking away to the bathroom down the hall.

Locking the door behind her, she set her things down on the counter before looking in the mirror. She frowned at the dark circles under her eyes, turning away to fiddle with the shower knobs until the water was at a temperature she was comfortable with. Betty undressed, stepping into the tub; she sighed as the warm water rained over her before running her fingers through her damp hair.

She leaned under the spray, pressing her palms against the cool tile lining the wall as she ducked her head. The air around her quickly grew hot, the thick steam soothing her aching head. She frowned when she realized she hadn't brought any soap with her, glancing around the tub. A weak smile found its way to her lips when she noticed a handful of bottles grouped together, a (now soaked) sticky note pressed against the lid of a bottle of Head and Shoulders shampoo.

 _Didn't know your brands, but I tried my best! :)_ _  
_ _Love, Mary_

Betty made a mental reminder to thank Mary later on as she picked up the bottle, squeezing a small amount of soap onto her hands before working it up to a lather in her hair. She washed her hair twice before grabbing a pink bottle of conditioner that made her hair smell like cherry blossoms, letting it sit as she used the small pink loofah that was tucked behind the bottles, scrubbing it in small circles over her body.

She stared at the note, scrubbing and scrubbing her skin until she realized she was being a little too aggressive, her arms and legs pink from the excessive exfoliation. The bathroom window let in more light than it had when she entered, making her realize she got lost under the spray of the hot water.

Betty frowned, dropping the loofah as she turned to rinse herself off before stepping out of the shower. She dried off, quickly changing into her clothes and heading back towards her room. She quietly closed the door behind her, sinking back against the wood as she took a few calming breaths in and out.

With one last deep breath, she pushed away from the door, walking over to her bed. She plopped down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling until she heard a knock at the door. Betty blinked, suddenly realizing how dry her eyes felt. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Come in.”

Mary stepped into the room, a warm smile on her lips. “You're up early.”

“Couldn't sleep,” Betty admitted, smiling weakly. She shrugged a shoulder, walking over to her bag to grab Jughead's flannel. “I didn't wake you when I was showering, did I?” She tugged the flannel on, cuffing the material hanging loose around her wrists.

Mary shook her head, the curls framing her face twitching with the motion. “I don't think anyone slept last night.”

Betty frowned. “Is everything all right?”

“Racing mind,” she explained. “Lots of questions I know I can't ask and when I can't sleep, Austin can't. Which is unfortunate because he gets cranky.”

Betty chuckled. “That _is_ unfortunate.”

“It's okay, he's more whiny than cranky.”

Austin ducked his head into the room, eyes barely open as he looked at Mary. “Coffee?”

“ _Please._ ”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes as he turned to Betty. “Do you want a mug, Betty?”

Betty shook her head, nose scrunched up in disgust. “No, I hate the taste.”

Austin chuckled softly, glancing at Mary with a warm smile. “She’s precious.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Go make coffee.”

He nodded, stepping into the room to steal a kiss before padding down the stairs.

“Not a coffee girl?”

“I prefer milkshakes,” Betty said with a smile.

Mary smiled. “Robin said you two are getting breakfast together.”

Betty nodded.

“Stop by the diner. Austin makes wicked milkshakes.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” Mary nodded. She glanced around the room before smiling at Betty. “Do you need help unpacking? Austin and I are leaving at six, but we'll be back late today if you want any help.”

“I already unpacked, but we could do a...family dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Mary beamed. “If you need anything, you have my phone number.”

Betty nodded.

“Seriously, anything at all.”

“I’ll call, I promise.”

Mary nodded, heading out of the room without another word.

Betty sat back on her bed, _On The Road_ open in her lap. She tried to read it, _really tried_ , but she made no progress in the hour it took for Robin to arrive.

Betty tucked the photograph of her and Jughead in her back pocket, heading out to the car.

She smiled brightly as she greeted Robin.

Robin looked at her strangely, not speaking for a few moments of silence. “Did you get any sleep, honey?”

Betty sighed, resting her temple against the window, the bright Albuquerque sun warming her face. “No.”

* * *

_Betty,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health (mind_ _and_ _body, my love). It’s only been three days without you, but it may as well have been three years. I miss you so much it’s crazy._

 _I’ve finally made it to my government-assigned undisclosed location and you would laugh if you knew where I was. It’s so hot it’s almost offensive, but the landscape is just gorgeous. I wish I could tell you more about it, but I’ve been instructed that imprecise details are the only ones I can offer._ ~~ _It’s not_~~ ~~_I don’t know_~~ _It’s weird here._

 _I’m not living in a city, first of all. It’s not as suffocating as home, but I still don’t know how I feel about it._ ~~_Which is understandable seeing as I just got here._ ~~ _I’ll eventually get used to it- and if I don’t, I’ll be sure to offer a list of grievances in my next letter; stay tuned, my Eliza._

_(I don’t fancy myself much of a Hamilton, but I know you think I write like him sometimes.)_

_I’m close enough to a neighbouring city, so naturally, I’m already planning on getting lost and maybe setting up shop in a booth at a diner somewhere with my laptop. (Marshal K put in a good word and somehow managed to get me a_ _shiny,_ **_new_ ** _one_ _; who said the US gov’t never did anything for me?)_

_I haven’t done much in the way of school yet, but I know that’s coming and I can’t emphasize enough how much I’m dreading it. I’ll be sure to keep you updated on the number of awkward classwide introductions I’ll be forced into._

_The witsec family I’m staying with aren’t bad people. Adam and Cathy are alright, (he’s friendly, she’s...let’s say strong-willed) but I can tell I’m a burden on them, even with the stipend. They seem to want children, and while you know I’m alright with kids, I really don’t want to be here whenever their dreams come true._

_The food (yes, I know you saw this one coming) is...something moderate. It’s not quite mediocre- I’d absolutely kill a man for a burger and a shake from you-know-where -but it’s tolerable._

_Everything is tolerable, really. No more, but maybe less._

_I’ve been mourning the loss of my novel; Marshal K says I’m no longer allowed to work on it for obvious reasons, but I can’t help it if I’m still upset. I will write something at a later date, I’m sure; maybe poems if I can force myself or a collection of short stories, but god, my poor fucking manuscript._

_My dreams of the two of us living in a cramped apartment in the city- me, the mediocre writer and you, the renowned journalist -will, unfortunately, have to remain dreams._

_Maybe in another life, my love._

_Until then, I hope you enjoyed my little surprise(s) and again, I miss you._

_I love you,_

_Yours._

_Enclosed is the bracelet that matches mine. I’m sorry I can’t be there to put it on for you, but unfortunately, these are the waters in which we’re forced to swim._

_PS not to be Sixteen and Tragic™, but you're_ _everything_ _and I'm so not ready for Betty-withdrawals._

_I love you._

* * *

**WITNESS PROFILE**

_ELIZABETH ROSE COOPER_  
\- WITSEC CONTROL #: WC-32107-A  
\- WITSEC ID: ELIZABETH ROSE CREGG  
\- STATUS: ACTIVE  
\- LOCATION: ABQ, NM


	3. Chapter 2 - eleven days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new life, poor coping skills, and a letter.
> 
> This chapter depicts a **panic attack**. Please don't read if that's not your thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the last [mood board](https://imgur.com/kASD4im) (3/3)

Jughead woke with a start, the sheets and his body damp with sweat. He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at how greasy the strands felt between his fingers. He threw the covers back, staring up at the ceiling as warm air blew in from the open window. It had been two and a half weeks since he’d arrived in the god awful state of California, but the nightmares hadn't stopped. 

They weren't always the same but the ending never changed; it would be he and Betty, happy and laughing, before getting on his motorbike (or in his dad’s truck or even the one night it was a van the Marshals drove him in) with him driving. They would go back and forth, talking and laughing until he lost control.

Things would spiral.

In the end, he watched Betty die at his negligence every night.

Jughead ran his fingers through his hair before he sat up, turning to put his feet on the ground. He took a deep breath, staring unblinkingly at the pale blue rug below his feet until his vision blurred out of focus. He turned to look at the nightstand and opened the drawer, picking up his notebook before walking over to the bench in front of his window.

It reminded him of the one in Betty's room back in Riverdale. 

He tugged on the tie holding the soft leather binding closed, opening the book as he sat. He looked down at a few thoughts he'd written down on the first page, the black ink and pencil markings illuminated by soft moonlight: the gist of a personal story his history teacher had told his class that he knew Betty would find funny, his locker combination (not that he ever used it), Adam, Cathy, and Rebecca's phone numbers, his new address. He turned the book over to the back flap, slipping his fingers between the leather and the back cover of the notebook, relaxing immediately when he found the picture of him and Betty tucked inside. He pulled the photo out, smiling down at the image of her. 

She looked so beautiful in that blue dress, eyes shining with happiness as she held his hand. Even though homecoming had ended horribly, it had been the first time he'd gotten a chance to dance with Betty- _really_ dance with her.

He remembered feeling like an idiot for beaming the whole night; the warm smile on her face as she positioned his hands on her waist had made his heart melt. She hadn't laughed at how awkward and stiff he was, she was just happy to be there with him. 

Jughead glanced out the window, scanning the sky for even one star that might be seen despite the bright city lights drowning them out. He settled for looking at the moon, resting his temple on the edge of the window. He wondered if she was awake; if she was looking out her window thinking of him.

With a sigh, he looked back at the photo. He'd barely managed a smile since he made it to California, let alone a grin as large as the one then. He wished he had something of hers- _anything_ -that he could hold onto. He set the photo down on his lap, looking over at the cast on his arm. Apart from the few square inches that Betty had branded with her gorgeous handwriting and a handful of small hearts, he absolutely despised the plaster shackle. 

He felt even more awkward than usual with it on. 

It was harder to slip by undetected when he had to account for the extra few inches of space. The once-clean looking cast was scuffed and marked up from the many times he accidentally slapped it into walls, tables, edges of furniture- pretty much _anything_. At least he knew his arm was healing because it hurt less and less each time he slammed it into something.

On the bright side, the handful of football players he knew were just itching to break him in were holding back from anything more than teasing and hyena-like laughter- he expected mostly because of the cast. Additionally, he may have been the new kid, but the school he was attending was _massive_ and he could easily slip away from trouble.

Unfortunately, he wasn't allowed to wear a hat during school hours, so, while he was less identifiable, he found himself absentmindedly worrying the bracelet Betty gave him out of pure anxiety. No beanie and it was too hot for a jacket or a flannel. He already looked massively out of place in dark clothing and suspenders, but of course, he had to feel practically _naked_ on top of everything. 

No armour, no grounding force of Betty-

Jughead slipped the photo into the back flap of his notebook again, awkwardly retying the knot before setting it down next to him. He glanced out the window again, listening to the distant sounds of traffic floating in the wind. His eyes felt heavy, but he didn't move.

He missed Betty.

She was always on his mind, but late at night when the noises in his head got too loud, he wished he could send her a text. Just an _I miss you_ or a _thinking of you_ \- even if a small part of him knew he would absolutely abuse that privilege.

He closed his eyes as he began to wonder if she got his letter and if she'd sent one back. 

Rebecca had told him it would take about a week for any letters to clear; they needed to be sent from her office to the Marshal tasked with Betty's wellbeing and then Betty would receive the letter. It reminded him of Archie being their middleman back in school.

Betty may have always been studious, but she could never resist his interruptions.

The whole thing felt like a _fun_ game of government-funded note passing. 

He huffed at the thought, shifting to curl up on his side. His notebook was awkwardly poking the back of his thigh and his ankle, but he didn't move out of sheer laziness. His whole body felt heavy, but he'd slept on worse back in Riverdale.

Jughead woke up to sunshine in his eyes. He squinted, glancing away from the window towards his room as he slowly remembered where he was. He remembered more and more quickly each morning, but it was still a strange shift he couldn't quite shake. 

As nice as the Jensen's were, Jughead was almost positive he was staying with a family of criminals. Maybe it was sixteen years of living under the same roof as criminals, but they seemed to be just shifty enough to ring a few alarm bells in his brain.

He still hadn't unpacked his second bag.

He wasn't sure if he would.

Jughead forced himself to stand, picking up his notebook as he walked around the bed, setting it back in his nightstand. He rubbed his eyes as he walked into his bathroom (ensuite; the Jensen's were loaded, yet another clue that someone hadn't just been in the wrong place at the wrong time) turning on the shower. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head as the water heated up.

He stripped out of his t-shirt and boxers, dropped them to the floor before he stepped under the hot spray of the shower. His eyes widened when he realized he had forgotten about his cast. “Fuck,” he huffed, stepping out onto the bathmat. His heel slipped on the tile as he reached out for the towel, causing him to ram his foot into the sturdy wooden cabinet the sink was built into.

Jughead forced himself to take a calming breath when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Had he always looked so angry?

He blinked down at the sink, awkwardly balancing on one foot as he reached down to make sure he hadn’t injured himself. He glanced up again, sighing heavily as he locked eyes with his reflection.

In the mirror, he looked exhausted. He’d never found his eyes to be bright or warm, but they seemed to be exceptionally dull. 

Jughead sighed, reaching under the sink for a plastic bag for his cast, tugging just a little too hard as he grew frustrated with maneuvering it on single-handedly. He stepped back into the shower, careful to hold his broken arm out to the side as he set about finishing up in the shower. 

The rest of his morning felt like him going through the motions as he dressed, grabbed a breakfast sandwich on his way out the door, and began his quiet walk to school. He didn’t really pay attention to his surroundings until he was about to pass over the threshold to his homeroom.

He went from one class to the next in a haze, scribbling nonsense in the margins of his notebooks as a way to pass the time. His third period, Algebra, was where he finally started to feel any semblance of humanity.

But per his usual luck, it was also the period he hated the most.

“Morning, loser,” one of the football players- number sixteen (his name might have been Kurt), mumbled as he entered the classroom, slapping the side of Jughead's skull as he walked by.

Jughead grit his teeth, glaring down at the book in his hands as he sank further into his seat, continuing to read until the bell rang and their teacher started the class. He stared at the board for the entire fifty minute period, not retaining a single thing written down on the whiteboard.

The bell rang again, pulling Jughead out of the fog he was in. He quickly shoved his things in his bag, power walking out of class and into the labyrinth of busy hallways. He pushed through a set of doors that separated one hallway from the other by an open-air walkway that led down a flight of stairs to a small courtyard.

Jughead paused when he noticed Kurt standing and talking to a few of his teammates. He took a deep breath, ducking his head as he attempted to power walk to the other end of the corridor.

A hand shot out just as Jughead was about to pass. “Loser,” Kurt greeted, fisting his hand in the fabric of Jughead's t-shirt. “Nice to see you again.”

“Can we please not do this?” Jughead asked. “I'm going to be late for English and I'd rather not-”

Kurt's smile fell. “You work around my schedule, not the other way around.”

Jughead laughed awkwardly. “I'd be okay if we avoided this altogether.”

Kurt's friends laughed.

“No, you get treated like everyone else here, Donnie Darko.”

The name almost made Jughead reminiscent of Riverdale.

Almost.

“Can’t we just go our separate ways and pretend you broke me in?”

Kurt let go of Jughead's shirt before shoving him back a few paces.

Jughead flashed the student he bumped into an apologetic smile when he saw papers go flying. “Listen-”

“No, _you_ listen, worm.” Kurt shoved Jughead again. “Don't know how shit worked at your last school, but I'm top dog here, so _you_ -” He pointed at Jughead. “Listen to _me_.” He pointed to himself. “Got it, tough guy?”

“This isn't-”

Kurt's eyes darkened with anger. “Yes or no?” He shoved Jughead into the railing. “Pick one.”

Jughead grit his teeth when he noticed a small crowd had formed around them, everyone’s eyes trained on the brewing fight. “You know what-”

Kurt shoved Jughead's chest. “What, tough guy?”

Jughead swallowed. He promised Betty he'd stay away from trouble. With a sigh, he opened his arms, prepared for whatever punch he was going to have to take. “Take your best shot.”

Kurt’s brows furrowed before he grinned, marching forward to grab Jughead by the collar of his shirt. He backed Jughead over the railing, holding his upper body over the stairs below the edge.

Jughead's eyes went wide as he grabbed Kurt’s wrist, holding on for dear life. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jason Street?”

Kurt dropped him down a few inches, grinning when Jughead yelped in fear. “You think you're funny, now?”

Jughead grit his teeth, chancing a glance over his shoulder at the group of students gathering on the stairs below. He looked back up at Kurt, trying not to flinch when his messenger bag fell over the edge of the railing, the weight of his books and his laptop tugging on his arm. “What did I ever do to you?”

Kurt grinned, pulling him back over the edge, laughing when Jughead crumpled to the floor, his good hand pressed to the solid ground as he tried to catch his breath. “Nothing, I was just having fun,” Kurt sneered. He paused before taking a step back, turning to rejoin his friends. “See you around, Jensen.”

Jughead's brows furrowed as he looked up from the floor, watching the half-dozen jocks laugh and joke about what had happened as they walked away. The crowd around him dispersed soon after.

Riverdale may have been loaded with creeps, but at least the football team wasn't full of fucking _psychos_.

Jughead closed his eyes as he leaned back against the railing. He focused on evening out his breathing, counting in and out. After a few unsteady breaths, he opened his eyes, pushing himself to stand on shaky legs. He looked around the busy hallway, unsurprised that things had gone back to normal.

At least he was still invisible.

A bell rang out, making him curse as he ran off towards his English class.

His teacher didn’t look up as he continued to transfer notes from a sheet of paper onto the whiteboard. “You’re late, Jamie.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Mister Owens looked over at Jughead, pointing towards the back of the room with his uncapped green dry-erase marker. “Take a seat.”

“Yes, sir.” Jughead deflated a little, continuing back towards his empty seat. He ignored the prying eyes of the red-head seated next to him as he unpacked a black spiralled notebook and a pen.

“Hey,” she whispered as he flipped to a clean sheet of paper. “ _Suspenders_.”

Jughead turned to glance at her. “I have a girlfriend,” he mumbled, turning to look at the board.

If another girl tried to hit on him, he was going to scream. No one bothered him back in Riverdale, why couldn’t he just be invisible again like he was-

“Bitch, me too,” she snickered. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

He glanced over at her, lips pursed in embarrassment. “Sorry, I just-” He sighed, shaking his head as he sank into his seat. “It’s been a long day already.”

“I hear that.” She smiled, sneaking a glance at the board again before she settled back in her seat. “Saw Van Houten harassing you.”

Jughead rolled his eyes, turning back to the board. “I don’t want to have this conversation,” he mumbled, beginning to copy down the notes.

She scoffed beside him. “He’s all talk. Barely throws punches.”

“I was on the verge of free-fall far too long for that to be true,” he grumbled after nearly snapping his pencil in shock at her words.

“That’s just because you offered him a shot.” She was grinning when he glanced back at her. “He’s got the combined brain-power of Riley and Jonesy.”

Jughead paused, brows furrowing. “Was that a _Letterkenny_ reference?” 

She held a hand out to him. “Lauren.”

He hesitated before shaking her hand. “Jamie.”

“I know,” she hummed, a small smile on her lips. “You have lunch after this?”

Jughead rolled his eyes despite the smile on his lips. He turned to face the board again, continuing with his notes. “Yeah.”

“Sit with me.”

Jughead considered the thought for a moment before nodding his head.

“Good.”

He smiled weakly, looking down at his notes before he faced forward; his focus began to wander as he stared blankly at the whiteboard. Jughead closed his eyes when the bell rang, shaking his mind back into place before he started packing up.

“Jamie?”

He _hated_ that name.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing up at Lauren. He frowned when he noticed the puzzled look on her face. “What's up?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

His brows furrowed.

“Did Kurt really fuck you up that much?”

Jughead huffed as he rose to his feet. “That guy's just a douche with attention issues. I’ll have you know my issues all stem from my past life.”

Lauren laughed, leading him towards the exit. “Didn't take you for a spiritualist.”

“That's not what I meant.” He shrugged a shoulder as they stepped out into the busy hallway.

“Don't leave me hanging, Jamie.”

He grit his teeth as he smiled. He _hated_ that name. “I'll tell you when you're older,” he promised.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Dad.”

Jughead smiled, slowing when he realized which direction they were going in. Technically, it was slower to follow the hallway they were walking along, but it was air-conditioned, so most students preferred it. He glanced over at the stairwell closest to them, the route he usually took that also happened to avoid the stairwell Van Houten had been hanging around earlier; he turned without any warning to Lauren.

“Dude-”

“I'm new, let me learn how to get places by myself.” He slammed into the push bar a little harder than necessary, shoving past the temperature change once they left the air-conditioned hallway for the open-air staircase.

“RS isn't that big,” she huffed, following him.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced back at her. “You're fucking with me.”

She raised a brow. “Where'd you come from again, farm boy?”

Jughead rolled his eyes as they stepped onto even ground. “Where are we-”

Lauren scanned the courtyard before pulling him along by his hand. She let go of him in favour of pulling a short blonde haired girl into a kiss that he needed to look away from.

“Cool,” he mumbled, ignoring their smacking kisses as he looked down at his scuffed up Converse, studying the new wears in the rubber.

People in California were weird.

Someone cleared their throat, drawing his gaze upward. The blonde girl smiled from under Lauren's arm. “Hey.” 

Jughead smiled awkwardly. “Hi.”

Lauren sighed, straightening a lock of the blonde girl’s hair before looking back at him. “Kellbell, this is Jamie; Jamie, this is Kelly. Look but don't touch.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “She's being an ass, ignore her.” She reached out for Lauren’s hand, leading her and Jughead over to the lunch line. 

They all paid for their lunches and took a seat on the far end of the courtyard below a tree with thick bark and wide green leaves.

Lauren and Kelly quickly fell into conversation as they recounted their day to one another. Lauren's hands waved in the air as she painted a picture of an argument from her morning biology class. Kelly watched adamantly, hanging onto Lauren’s every word. 

The scene was sweet, but it made his chest ache for the time he could be spending with Betty, curled into one another at Pop's, Archie chatting away from the other side of the booth.

“Earth to Jamie!” Lauren said, clapping her hands in front of Jughead's face.

He sat back in surprise, blinking when he suddenly remembered when he was. “What?”

“You were zoning, my dude,” Lauren huffed, rolling her eyes as she bit the straw of her drink.

Kelly giggled despite her girlfriend’s obvious annoyance. “She was trying to apologize for leaving you out of the conversation, but I guess you were amusing yourself.”

Jughead cleared his throat as he felt a blush rising over his cheeks. “Sorry, I was just thinking about home.”

“Oh, right!” Lauren said, smiling brightly. “So this mysterious girlfriend of yours-”

Jughead shook his head, smiling weakly down at his plate. “No.”

“What?” Lauren huffed. “Come on, that was your opening line with me. At least tell me about her.”

He glanced up, studying the look on her face- serious, but not judgemental -before nodding his head slowly. If there was one thing he could do, it was talk about Betty. “Fine.”

Lauren and Kelly cheered in excitement. 

“So, how’d you meet?” Lauren asked.

“What’s she look like?”

“Can we see a picture?”

“Tell us everything,” Kelly demanded. “What’s her _name_?”

“Betty,” Jughead said, unable to hide his smile. “We met in my best friend’s backyard; she was his next-door neighbour.”

“Oh my god,” Lauren mumbled, popping a few goldfish in her mouth. “You drove a wedge between the girl and the boy next door, how scandalous.”

“There was no _wedge-_ ” They were _always_ the three musketeers. “We’ve all been friends since we were six.”

“Awe,” the girls chorused. 

“You must miss her like crazy,” Lauren said.

Jughead nodded, looking down at the sandwich on his tray. “I do.” He sighed, glancing up again. “It’s okay,” he said, smiling weakly. “We’re going to try to move in together after we turn eighteen.”

“Does she live near here?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She lives upstate.” To the best of his knowledge, the north-most border of California was a ten-plus hour drive from Riverside, plenty of distance that Betty’s _actual_ whereabouts wouldn’t be something of concern.

“We should totally do a road trip,” Lauren suggested. 

Kelly nodded excitedly. “Yes!”

Jughead laughed awkwardly. “Maybe.”

Lauren paused, squinting a little as she stared him down over the table. “Is this a _my very real girlfriend who lives in Canada_ sort of deal, Jamie?”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “She’s real.”

Lauren hummed, unconvinced. 

“She’s _real_ ,” Jughead repeated more firmly than before.

“Tell us about her,” Kelly prompted.

Jughead sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he considered what he could and couldn't divulge. “Her name is Betty.” He paused, looking down at the blue patio table, picking at a point in the repetitive cross-hatching of the metal where the yellow paint was peeling away. “She's got the prettiest green eyes and she makes the most amazing pastries. She's into old movies and books.” He smiled weakly. For once the thought of her didn't make him want to run away and brood about how much he missed her. “She and I used to work on the school paper together-”

“Wait, really?” Lauren interrupted.

Jughead paused, brows furrowing. Did she recognize him? “Yes,” he said a little hesitantly.

“Kelly and I run the paper here,” she said with a grin. “You should join!”

The proposal made him pause. “I couldn't.”

“Why not?” Kelly said with a frown. “I know neither of us are Betty, but it could be a _little_ fun.”

Lauren smiled down at Kelly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We could just see what you think of it.” She glanced over at him again. “We’ll stop in after school and I can give you a ride home after.”

Jughead hummed, looking down at his untouched sandwich. He considered the proposition before looking up at her again. “Okay, yeah. Let's do it.”

“Bet,” Kelly said, smiling down at the salad on her tray. “What do you have after this?”

Jughead pulled out his notebook, flipping to the first page. He scanned the schedule he had written in, stopping at the bottom. “Chemistry and AP US History.”

“Wow.”

He looked up at Lauren, brows pinched in confusion. “What?”

“Are you in Latten's APUSH class?”

“I don't know,” Jughead mumbled. “Maybe? My teacher's older.”

“Damn,” Kelly huffed. “How'd you get placed there?”

Jughead's brows furrowed. “I showed up?”

Kelly laughed. “Honey, that's the class for the smart kids.”

He paused, brows furrowing. “Really?”

Lauren nodded. 

He hummed, nodding his head. “Weird.”

Lauren laughed. “I should have guessed you were a nerd.”

Jughead huffed. “I may have nerd-like qualities, but Betty was the real nerd.”

“Talking trash when she's not here to defend herself?” Lauren gasped. “Come on, Jamie, that's a low bar.”

He rolled his eyes despite the smile on his lips. “She'd tell you the same thing.” He picked up his sandwich, taking a bite. “I'm just her sidekick.”

“Ah,” Kelly hummed. “So you're _Mister Betty whatever-her-last-name-is_ , then?” 

“Hadn't thought of it that way, but you're not wrong.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah,” he smiled to himself, the idea oddly comforting. They were partners, yes, but she was always the real superhero. His shoulders relaxed as a soft breeze shook the leaves of the tree they were sat under; a spot shined down on his cheek, making something warm bloom within his chest. “I guess that is my lot in life,” he mused before digging into his lunch. 

In history, Jughead sat at his desk, facing forward as he tried to ignore the whispers floating around him.

 _Yes_ , he was the kid from this morning.

 _No_ , he wasn't going to retaliate

 _No_ , he wasn't just some emo creep.

( _Well_.)

 _Yes_ , he was damn sure still angry about it, but he wouldn't breathe a word to them. They'd grow bored with him soon and move onto something far more exciting, like who the hottest gym teacher was. He'd just have to wait it out and not do anything to get himself noticed. He assumed that wouldn't be too difficult, settling back in his chair as his teacher pulled up a YouTube video.

Jughead rubbed his eyes when the final bell rang, confused as to when he'd fallen asleep. He packed up his things, following the other students out of the room. He jumped when Lauren slapped his arm as she fell into step with him.

“What?” she asked. “Are you seriously scared of me?”

“No, I just wasn't prepared for...the pop-up book from hell.”

“Awe, you watch Gilmore Girls,” Lauren said with a smile. “That's so cute.”

Jughead looked down at his feet, ignoring how his ears burned. “Can we get back to the paper?”

“We weren't _on_ the paper, yet.”

“ _Lauren_ ,” he begged. 

She sighed, tugging on the loop of his backpack before she started walking in the opposite direction. “Fine.”

He turned on a dime, jogging over to her. “Jesus,” he huffed. “Do you power walk everywhere?”

“Only when I want to annoy Kelly.” She smiled up at him before she turned quickly, her Vans squeaking as she started towards the stairs. “But you have long legs and it's fun watching you bitch.”

“Rude.”

“Hey, it's all in good fun.”

“Doubt that.”

Lauren laughed, rushing up the first flight of stairs.

He followed, chasing her down one flight of stairs, around the courtyard, all the way inside again. “Where is the office for your paper?”

“The Red and Gold works out of the library.”

Jughead felt himself slow for a moment at the name of the paper before he caught up with her again. “Why the library?”

“Librarian used to work for the _Times_.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope!”

He was _so_ screwed.

Jughead forced a smile, fighting back panic as he followed Lauren through the library doors. “Sounds awesome.”

He was so stupid. Joining a club was a bad idea- _talking_ to people was a bad idea.

He shouldn't have let Betty go without him.

He was inept at functioning through life. He'd stumbled his way through everything back in Riverdale, but there had been Betty; the voice of reason, the caring hand tempering him away from self-destruction, the only thing keeping him _sane_. 

“Hey.”

Jughead jumped when Lauren grabbed his arm.

“Are you good, man?”

He stopped, suddenly aware of his sweaty, shaking hands, his thudding heart, and heavy breathing. “I'm-” His voice came out choked and scratchy. He had been alright until she had pointed out his visible distress, but suddenly everything- the bright fluorescent lights overhead, the overwhelming silence of the empty hallway, _standing_ -felt like too much. After a deep breath, he finally shook his head. “No.” 

Lauren nodded, rifling through her bag for something as Jughead leaned against a wall of lockers for support. “Do you need to sit down for a little?”

He shook his head, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

Why was California so hot? It was fucking December.

Lauren pushed a water bottle in front of his face, the cap held out in her free hand. “Drink.”

He nodded, taking the water and the cap, pressing the jagged plastic of the cap into his palm. Jughead focused on the slight bite of pain as he sipped the room temperature water.

Lauren sat down on the floor in front of him cross-legged, tapping on her phone before she leaned back on her palms, watching him.

He looked back at her skeptically as he continued drinking his water, suddenly feeling like he was firmly on the ground again. 

“When was the last time you had a glass of water, Jensen?”

Jughead ignored the strange feeling at his fake surname, instead concentrating on finding an answer to her question as he took a seat in front of her, his shoulders pressed to cool metal. He shrugged after a moment of careful deliberation. “I don't know.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Alright, dummy, it's too damn hot here for that. Staying hydrated will keep you from bugging like that again.”

He swallowed, looking away from Lauren's face at her words.

He shouldn't talk to people.

She huffed suddenly, nudging him with her foot. “Dude, you need to meditate or some shit.”

Jughead bit his lower lip.

“Come on.” Lauren cracked a smile. “It's the Martin Lawrence defence, I get it, but there's a really simple solution here.”

He nodded, looking down at his lap. “I'll stay hydrated,” he promised, playing with the seam running down the thighs of his black jeans, just so he had something to focus on. 

“Have you always been this anxious?”

His gaze met hers when his head snapped up. “What?”

Her brow quirked upward. “Do you think everyone is that twitchy?”

Jughead frowned. “I guess I just used to have a better poker face.”

Lauren hummed. “I’m sure you're right.”

He smiled weakly before looking blankly in the direction they had been walking.

“Let's skip the Red and Gold today.”

Jughead glanced over at Lauren, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“We can stop by at lunch or after school tomorrow,” she promised as she rose to her feet. “Kell and I practically live in there, honestly.”

She pulled the empty water bottle from his hands, walking off to fill it before she returned.

Jughead watched as she held a hand out to him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth before taking it. He accepted the water bottle again, focusing on the condensation gathering along the sides as cold water swished back and forth inside the clear plastic. As he silently followed Lauren in the opposite direction, he focused on the cold water bottle, barely even registering where they were until they passed through a door leading outside of the building. 

He glanced around the quiet campus, taking a swig from the bottle before shoving it in the pouch on the side of his messenger bag. 

“I have a question.”

Jughead glanced over at Lauren, his interest piqued. “What is it?”

Lauren smiled as she looked ahead. “Ever been on a motorbike before?”

Jughead's footsteps faulted as he tried to school his features. “Once or twice,” he lied roughly. “Why?”

“So, I don't actually have a car.”

He swallowed, fighting down the panic rising in his chest once more. He stopped walking, blinking when his vision blurred with tears for just a moment before he turned towards Lauren.

 _Relax_ , he scolded himself internally. _Just fucking breathe_.

He took a shallow breath, forcing himself to count to ten before speaking again. “How are you taking me home?”

Lauren pulled a pair of keys from her pocket, stopping a few feet from a shiny, black Harley. “The fun way,” she said excitedly.

He shook his head, gritting his teeth as he blinked down at the ground. He took a step backward.

Lauren reached out to touch his shoulder, suddenly looking concerned. “Jamie-”

He shrugged Lauren’s hand off of him, his heart clenching when her face fell. “I-” he choked out, looking back at the motorcycle before he shook his head again. “I can’t.”

“They’re not _that_ scary.”

“I can’t get on that.” He frowned when he realized he couldn't quite catch his breath, suddenly acutely away of the panic from before, back with a vengeance.

“Are you okay?” She stepped forward to grab his arm again.

Jughead dodged her fingers, suddenly repulsed at the idea of being touched, before he took a shaky breath, blood pounding in his ears as he turned on his heel.

He ran.

Wind whipped across his face as he ran through the field next to the school, following a hiking trail that wound back and forth before transitioning into a hill. The hill was steep, but he ran past the point that his legs grew sore and his chest was screaming for air. He kept going, struggling up the hill, just to feel something aside from the screaming fear inside his chest.

When he reached the top, he looked out over the valley, taking in the busy city below before he finally let himself scream.

He dropped to his knees, palms pressed into the dusty trail as he struggled to take a breath. He rested his forehead on his hands, desperately trying to breathe in as he closed his eyes. 

His chest hurt.

He wondered if he was dying.

He crawled to the edge of the trail after he caught his breath, shifting to sit. He let his legs hang over the cliff, taking a deep breath as his eyes scanned over the city. He breathed out as he closed his eyes, pressing his palms into his eyes and his elbows into the tops of his thighs. He ignored the grit of dirt on his skin as he focused on breathing in and out.

A sob finally escaped him.

He let his hands drop, watching the city blur as tears continued to fall. He reached into his bag, pulling out his journal, holding it to his chest. Maybe it was stupid, but it felt nice to have it, to hold her photo over his heart. 

His head fell forward as he tried to focus on his breathing, counting up and down from ten. Jughead pulled his legs up to his chest, his breathing finally began to slow before he focused on calming himself down.

He listened to the traffic of the small city below, focusing on the breeze blowing along his face. The sun felt warm on his face.

Jughead jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, holding the journal to his chest before he looked up. His eyes went wide when he saw Lauren kneeling next to him.

She froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her long hair fell in her face, her gray eyes wide. 

He swallowed, looking down at his lap. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

“Jamie-”

“No, no. I- I spazzed out and ran off.” He sniffed, shaking his head. “Look, you don't have to do the pity friend thing. I'm not normally this friendly, I can survive on my own.”

“You're definitely not friendly, but that doesn't even matter really.” Lauren scoffed, throwing her hair over her shoulder before she sat down next to him, her legs hanging next to his. She swung her legs out, letting them fall back so her beat-up Vans kicked up dirt as they hit the silty edge of the cliff. “Kelly already decided she likes you.”

Jughead laughed awkwardly as he fingered the tie of his notebook while he held onto the book with good hand. “So, what, you're my cool vodka aunt now?”

Lauren smiled. “You're getting the spirit, kid.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, his focus stuck on the tie. He wanted to pull her photo out. He just needed to lose himself taking in every line of her face while he let himself pretend he wasn't _trapped_ , waiting for a letter. He did the math- one letter took seven days from his hands to hers; if he gave a letter eight days (so she could have an extra day to respond, but he knew that wasn't being mindful of weekends or holidays or _life_ ), it would be another seven (at least) back. They could send maybe three letters a month for the next two years. That was barely-

“Dude, breathe.” 

Jughead blinked, looking over at Lauren.

“You're thinking too hard.”

Jughead frowned, looking down at his lap. When he glanced back up, she had a small gray rectangular e-cigarette in her hand as she looked over the city.

“Have you been in an accident before?” The device lit up as she breathed in. “Like on a motorcycle,” she said, breathing out the white vapour. 

He felt his shoulders deflate. “Am I that obvious?”

She shrugged, bringing the e-cigarette to her lips. “It happens, man.” She breathed out a small white cloud before offering him the vape; she pulled her hand back when he shook his head. “You see anyone?”

Jughead rolled his eyes.

“Dude, it's a valid question.”

“I'm just an angry guy-”

“Just when people confront you. You tried to talk your way out of being pummeled by Kurt first, remember?”

He frowned. “I don't get the point of this memory exercise.”

“Oh, my god,” Lauren bemoaned. “Look, I dig the loner-weirdo-outsider vibes- it's really Seattle grunge and you pull it off, but you're really not channelling your trauma.”

Jughead's brows furrowed. “Is there anything on the back of that particular fortune or can I grab another cookie?”

“Are you done being twelve?”

“Are you done being _rude_? You came and found me, remember?”

Lauren looked at him with an annoyed pinch of her brows. She sighed, looking out at the city again. “I'm not trying to fight you, Jame.”

He looked out over the city, ignoring the thick silence that held in the air at her comment. “I've never felt...right, so I don't know why things are supposed to be any different now.”

“Look, man, do what you want, but make sure you're not ruining your life over an easy fix.” She took another hit from the vape. “Just talk to a therapist or a school counselor.”

He huffed. “I'm good.”

Lauren looked over at him, a tired expression on her face. “You're mad stubborn.”

He shrugged, looking down at his lap again. “Maybe.”

Lauren nodded, rising to her feet. She offered him a hand after she stood, helping him up. 

“Where are we going?”

“I'm going to walk you home.”

“Laur-”

“It's happening, come on.”

Jughead sighed, looking down at her hand. “Fine,” he mumbled, taking her hand in his, so she could help him up. 

He turned glancing down the trail towards the school, Lauren's Harley, and the setting sun. After feeling a second of peace he hadn't felt ever since leaving Betty, he paused before pulling his phone out to take a photo of the soft gradient of swirling yellows, pinks, and oranges.

Lauren stopped, waiting until he was satisfied before encouraging him to continue on their walk to his current home.

* * *

 

 _My dearest_ ** _,_ ** _J,_

 _(If we’re sticking with the Hamilton references and you_ _absolutely_ _write like him, my love.)_

_Your surprises were very much appreciated, I’m only sorry I can’t send you a piece of clothing to return the favour._

_I’m so sorry to hear about your novel. Not only was I dying to find out how you were writing our old home, but I was so excited to see what you did with the story. I found myself in love with every sentence I could sneak over your shoulder (but was I really that sneaky to begin with when it came to reading over your shoulder?) and I’m truly devastated for you._

_I hope you’re staying busy. I can’t bear the thought of you getting lost in yourself._

_I have this urge to tell you everything, no matter how mundane, but I'm writing on and off today; I'll list meals so you can infer the point I'm writing at._

_\- Two slices rye toast, cheese omelet, strawberry milkshake. ⅘ plates_

_Breakfast wasn't terrible, but it looked exactly like you-remember-where and I half expected you to pop in out of nowhere and sit down with me the entire time. I could barely finish my omelet, the toast was nice- not that toast ever really disappoints, and the milkshake was on par with some of the best I’ve ever consumed. You would love this little diner, even if it could never top our favourite burger joint._

_This has to be the strangest little city I’ve ever been to. It's so dry here, though the landscape is incredible. There's desert, but there's also places like the_ _prettiest_ _little field of lavender I've ever seen. The budding photographer in you would love it here. I hope you take photos of wherever you are. I found the sweater I wore the last time you took my picture and it made me think of you._

_To be fair, everything makes me think of you._

_\- A very sad salad, something meat-based from the cafeteria (but I didn't look long enough because I love myself), water._ **_-2_ ** _/5 plates, I'm a very unhappy gal._

 _The school I transferred to is huge. My class is the size of our entire school at home._ _Just my class._ _It's kind of terrifying, but the anonymity of everything is so freeing. I’ve been told (ordered) to avoid the paper, but I may see if there’s a large enough club that I can sit in the background and observe. Maybe I’ll find a new place to fit in._

_You’d be jealous to know I was only forced to awkwardly perform my new name and background in front of two classes. (“Eliza [can’t tell you] from a small town you’ve never heard of in Connecticut. My interesting fact is my dad taught me how to fix cars and my favourite ice cream flavour is chocolate.”)_

_(Okay, it's not, but it's yours and drinking a chocolate milkshake is about the closest thing to the taste of your mouth and I'm driving myself up every wall I can find with the need to kiss you.)_

_ <3 _

_My new schedule has eight classes a day, but Marshal R said he’ll save me from study hall on Fridays and we can get milkshakes; Marshal M will meet us._

_There's definitely a difference between being friends with the sheriff's son and being escorted by Marshals. I know you know the feeling._

_\- A small bowl of chicken soup, water._

_The chicken soup was homemade, but nothing like home._

~~_I told myself I wasn't going to cry again, but it happened. I hate it here. I miss home. I miss our friends and actual greenery. It's just sand here and it's terrible._ ~~

~~_I miss you so much I can barely stand it. Your clothes barely smell like you and it's making it harder and harder to hold myself together._ ~~

_I miss you._

_Our week and a half apart has felt like far too much time and I miss you so very much. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but, fuck, is the absolute agony_ _you feel during that absence easier said than done._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

_Always,_

_Your Betty_

_p.s. I may like Eliza a little too much, I only wish I could hear the name (and every word of your letters, present and future) from your lips._

_p.p.s. Not to_ _also_ _be Sixteen and Tragic™, but I miss you like crazy. Jughead-withdrawals are the absolute worst._

_I love you._

* * *

**WITNESS PROFILE**

FORSYTHE PENDLETON “JUGHEAD” JONES III  
\- WITSEC CONTROL #: WC-32106-A  
\- WITSEC ID: JAMIE JENSEN  
\- STATUS: ACTIVE  
\- LOCATION: RIVERSIDE, CA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi it's been a minute. I'm working pretty much full-time rn and I don't totally have the plot for this mapped out yet beyond the progression of time. I'm also planning to move soon so everything I'm writing is on the slowest of roll outs.  
> um  
> I have a patreon if that's a thing you like.  
> thanks for stopping in

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://literatiruinedme.tumblr.com/)!


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